You're Getting Even Older
by Cielenny
Summary: Stan's losing himself. Kyle tries to help. Won't have a full impact unless you've seen "You're Getting Old" and "Asberger's" but you can read either way. Oneshot. Can be seen as Style or just strong friendship, depending on your interpretation :P


**First Fanfiction ever, and at three in the morning. In other words, don't judge my writing skills or lack thereof x) enjoy. (Also, this is just a oneshot, not the beginning of a story).**

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Stan lifted the half empty beer bottle to his lips before tilting his head back and taking a long swig. He contemplated silently if he should just down the whole thing in one go. After a brief moment of deliberation, Stan chugged the remaining liquid out and smashed the now empty bottle on the bench. The crash and shatter of glass didn't phase him; in fact, it was a comforting sound, like pancakes sizzling on a grill or the tapping of a pencil on the table.

Stan gazed into the diminutive pond morosely. It was frozen over and shined dully through the patches of snow that settled atop it, although it was so dark out he couldn't see its gleam very clearly. His face and hands felt numb; Stan had ditched mittens by the time he got into middle school. He secretly missed wearing them, and the warmth they brought, but he wouldn't wear them nowadays unless he waned to be mocked as the most childlike freshman in South Park High.

Every couple of weeks, Stan would come to the exact same bench in Stark's Pond and drink himself senseless. He's been drinking ever since he turned ten and started seeing the world for how it really is. He didn't see drinking as a problem, just a coping skill. After all, it's not like alcoholism is a disease or anything; his dad was living proof of that, he HAD been proof of that. Stan felt better when he drank, and he could forget all the shitty things in the world. The only downside was the hangovers.

None of his friends understood his drinking, except maybe Kenny. Stan's fairly sure Kenny's drunk every day, but no one can tell because that's how he always is. Also, Kenny doesn't give him shit for drinking, not like Stan's OTHER friends do.

Stan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The sickeningly familiar scent of snow and pine trees filled his lungs, suffocating him with nostalgia. He grabbed another beer, his fourth one, and popped it open. He'd no sooner lifted the soothing beverage to his lips before it was suddenly ripped from his grasp. His eyes snapped open in surprise, and a pair of blazing green ones met his.

"The fuck, Stan." Kyle said, sounding dangerously calm. He grasped the full bottle in his left hand, knuckles turning white from his death grip. Stan wondered how the bottle wasn't breaking under that sheer force. Kyle's face looked impassive at a glance, but Stan could see the anger hidden behind his stare. His very, very green stare.

"Why are you here?" Stan asked, surprised.

"I was taking a walk, and thank God I did." Kyle retorted, gesturing to the beer bottle sharply.

"Give that back, you dick." Stan muttered out, tipsy. He made an abrupt, awkward lunge for the bottle, but Kyle was quick and fast, not to mention sober. He dodged Stan's attempt and steadied him when he leaned forward precariously. Once Stan was sitting up straight, Kyle threw the bottle onto the ground. The effect was anticlimactic, seeing as the bottle didn't break, but the contents spilled out and seeped through the snow nonetheless, dying it a dark gold color.

"You suck, Kyle." Stan said surprisingly clearly. He'd built up a minor endurance to alcohol since he's been drinking it more often lately. He withdrew another beer, but within seconds, it was yet again yanked from his hands, this time being tossed harshly away from him. It shattered and skidded across the icy surface of the pond, as well as the last one of the six pack that Kyle snatched up right after throwing the first.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Stan asked, angrier than before. Now he has no drinks; no distraction.

"I should ask YOU that." Kyle huffed. His cheeks were red, either from the cold, the anger, or both. His breaths came out strongly, mist shooting from his mouth and evaporating into the dark, nighttime air.

"God, don't be such a pansy." Stan shot back.

"I'm not. You know, I'm okay with you drinking every once in a while," Kyle started, his voice growing louder with every word. "But you have a problem, Stan. You can't even go three days without getting drunk. I'm sick of it!" By now, Kyle was practically shouting. "I can't just sit by and watch you ruin yourself!"

Stan held up a finger and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I can go for more than three days without getting drunk." he said, disregarding Kyle's rant.

Kyle snorted. "Oh, right. Let me rephrase; you can't go three days without at least taking a shot or two." he glared at Stan accusingly.

"This is true." Stan nodded.

"And another thing!" Kyle yelled suddenly, throwing his arms out in front of him. "You don't even care about it! You're failing all of your classes, you don't talk to your friends anymore, to ME anymore! All you do is sleep and drink and you don't even give a fuck!" his voice rung out before fading suddenly, and all that remained was the silence in the forest, and the tap of Stan's fingers on the bench. The silence was no longer comforting to Stan, but tense and awkward. They stayed like that for a minute, Stan still sitting on the bench and Kyle breathing a bit heavier than usual.

Kyle crossed his arms and seemed to hesitate with his next statement. "Why can't you just get over yourself, Stan." he finished, sniffling. Whether it was from the freezing temperature or emotions, Stan couldn't tell, but in the moment he didn't care. A jolt of fury passed through him and he shot up, matching Kyle's height almost perfectly. Stan looked straight into his surprised eyes.

"It's not about me! It's about this whole fucking world!" Stan screamed suddenly, waving his arms madly. Kyle took a step back, eyes wide with shock. "Everything has gone to shit, and you-" Stan paused and swallowed harshly. "You don't even see it, no one does! Who gives a fuck about the next Steve Carrell movie, or the new Wiz Khalifa song? Everything you do in life is so pointless, and…" Stan's words quieted down now, to a near whisper. "And why should I even bother going out there sober if all I can think about is getting drunk and forgetting it all?" he fell to his knees ungracefully and sobbed into his numb hands. He could feel the bone chilling snow seeping through his jeans, but he hardly even noticed.

Kyle stood quietly above him for a few seconds before he kneeled down hesitantly and wrapped his arms around Stan's shaking torso.

"Stan… it'll be okay…" he whispered, making Stan's frustrated cries even louder. Kyle winced and pulled Stan towards him with his arms so he was pressed against him. A passing thought of how gay they must look drifted through his mind, but Kyle didn't care. This was his super best friend, and he was in trouble. He let the sobs rack through Stan's body for what seemed like hours until he finally quieted down to sniffles and hiccups.

"Y-you're going to h-hold this over me f-forever, aren't you?" Stan mumbled, his voice muffled by his coat sleeve.

Kyle felt like shooting a teasing remark back about how he'll TOTALLY hold it over Stan, but he decided against it.

"Of course not." he said softly. His words were punctuated by a strong breeze that made both boys shiver violently. Snow started to drift down lazily, and the snowflakes latched themselves onto their hair and clothes as they sat, freezing.

"Let's go to my house. We can talk. Wanna stay the night?" Kyle asked the other boy gently. Stan nodded, and they both started walking/stumbling out of the forest, huddling together for warmth. Stan knew that Kyle wouldn't be able to help him. But maybe he'd get a chance to catch up with his very best friend.

He only hoped that after Kyle fell asleep, he could find some damn beer in the house.

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**So? Was it good? Bad? Let me know, review. :)**

xoxoxoxoxoxo


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